


Letter

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Jack leaves Sarah a note.





	Letter

Sarah awakens to find a note wedged into the spot where her window and windowsill meet. It waves like a ribbon in the early morning breeze, scribbled upon a strip of grey in paper, which must've been torn off the part of the newspaper where the writing doesn't quite make it all the way to the edge of the page. Sarah spends a happy morning deciphering it, pledging to forever keep this scrap of sweet correspondence close to her heart. 

Sarah hums through her morning chores, and doesn't become cross when her distraction leads her to prick herself three times with her sewing needle while mending Les’ socks. 

“What is it?” David demands after dinner. Mama and Papa have cleared away the plates, and though Sarah should be helping them, she’s lingering at the table to talk with David, as she often does. “You’ve been acting strange all day. Is something wrong?” 

Sarah had meant to keep Jack’s letter a secret, yet she can't help taking it out of her front pocket to brandish in front of David. 

“His handwriting is almost as bad as yours,” she says. Sarah has long perfected the art of cutting remarks spoken with a mild tone and a sweet smile, but she doesn't mean it unkindly this time. There's no need to say whose handwriting she's talking about. 

“At least I have an excuse,” David mumbles, rather shortsightedly. It's true that David has spent a lot of his school years having his left hand smacked by teachers, or tied behind his back when he dared to write with it. It's also true that David’s left hand produces far less woeful results than his right. Even so, he's had the luxury of school, which Jack has not.

“I'm sure Jack Kelly thanks his lucky stars every morning that he wasn't born left handed,” Sarah says.

David frowns, nails scratching the table, a nervous habit of his. “Can I read it?” 

“You might be able to, but I'm not going to let you.” 

“I can always just get him to tell me what it says.” 

Sarah raises her eyebrows, and she's about to tell David off for being nosy, but a wonderful thought comes to her, splitting her face into a grin. “Does he talk about me?” Sarah asks. 

“He's Jack. He talks constantly, and only half of it’s true. You know that. I overheard him telling Mush that you were a ballerina. Well, it started with him telling Mush that you were—” here David coughs uncomfortably “—pretty like one. But then he kept talking, and suddenly you _were_ one, and I can't help thinking he _believed_ himself, at least while he was saying it.” 

“A ballerina,” Sarah repeats. It's a funny thought. She's been sewing lace and keeping house for so long. Still. She shakes her head to clear it. 

“Who knows what you’ll be tomorrow.” 

“Can you ask him about the letter? I want to know what he was thinking when he wrote it.” 

David hesitates, then nods. “But only because I want to know what it says,” he hastens to add.


End file.
